Lost Love Story
by sugar-quill-93
Summary: The secret behind the entire existence of the Harry Potter world


I didn't know where I was going or how long it would take to get there. At this point, I didn't care. All that mattered was that I was gone, going as far away as I could from home. I was done with it.

The wind that was howling in my ears was momentarily silenced by a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning. The rain started then, instantaneously and harder than I ever imagined possible. I kept running though, trying to keep my cloak out of the puddles. My head was bent to the ground as I ran.

SLAM!

The sound echoed as I hit something solid and cold. My knees gave way and I fell into the ground in a heap. The basket I was carrying flew off my arm and landed somewhere out of sight. I heard a small gasp of surprise and two hands wrapped around my shoulders and helped me up. I looked directly into the eyes of the most beautiful man on the face of the earth: Tom Riddle.

"Hey now," he said in his impeccable voice. My knees threatened to give way again but his arms were strong around me, "You must be Merope. You live in that house across from mine."

He knew my name. I was more surprised than anything and could only manage to nod slightly. I couldn't help but notice that he hadn't yet let me go. He was smiling and seemed completely unfazed by the rain. "Where are you going?" he asked me.

I said nothing, did nothing. I was still in too much shock that this perfect man actually knew my name and that he was actually touching me.

"Running away?" he guessed. My eyes widened to confirm that he was right, "Why are you doing that? I'm sure things aren't that bad. Come on. Let's go to my manor. You can have a nice hot bowl of soup or some tea."

He left me for a split second to go and get the basket I had dropped but I barely noticed. I was about to go into the Riddle's home. It had been my dream for most of my life. I couldn't help but smile slightly at what my father's impression would be if he knew. But he wouldn't know. He couldn't. I wasn't very good when it came to wandwork but my potion making skills were beyond anything anyone had ever known and now my dear, old, wretched father and brother were fast asleep under a Sleeping Potion.

"Come on now," he said, giving me a hand. He held the basket with the other one as he led me up to the formidable manor on the side of the hill. I was mute as I followed, dumbstruck with the thought that I was actually doing this.

"Watch your step," he said, leading me over the threshold. I wanted to faint from happiness, die from pleasure. And all he had done was touch my hand. It was foolish to wish for anything more. Getting my hopes up would just bring them crashing back down. After all, I was the village idiot's daughter and he was the mortal equivalent of God.

Sometimes I wondered why my father and my brother couldn't see Tom Riddle as a human. They saw him only as a Muggle. Had they never seen his bright green eyes glow with kindness? Had they never seen the beauty of his white pale skin framed by blonde hair or never noticed his dimples when he smiled? I had. I had seen all of this and more. I had seen him swagger home, drunk, no doubt from a pub in Great Hangleton. Still, I loved him. I had seen him bring a different girl home every night. Still, I loved him. More and more, I wanted him. Just seeing him made me happy and then, I needed him. I needed him so badly, it hurt. 18 years of watching him pass by on his horse; 18 years of wishing that I was the girl next to him; 18 years of being tormented, hurt, and neglected by my father; 18 years. I was done.

"Thank you," I said, finally. I was sitting on a plush couch in front of a warm fire. It was the most comfortable I had ever felt in my entire life. My basket sat on the hearth, untouched.

"You speak," he laughed softly, making my heart thump against my throat, "I thought you were a mute. You never speak."

I couldn't do anything but smile again; my heart was threatening to leap away if I opened my mouth.

"I've seen your father and your brother out on the streets. But I've never really seen you outside your house, you know."

Again, all I could do was smile.

"What's wrong? You're not talking again," he pointed out. He was sitting in another couch beside mine. We both had cups of strong tea in our hands. It was far too bitter for my taste, but my taste didn't matter when I was here, in Tom Riddle's company.

"They don't let me," I squeaked.

"Pardon?"

"They don't let me."

"Oh my," he said, clearly surprised, "That must be horrid. Haven't you ever told anyone?"

"No. They don't let me."

More moments of unbearable silence passed. We both began speaking at the same time.

"Have you-"

"I'm-"

"No you first," he pressed.

I blushed heavily and my throat had sealed itself shut again. All I could do was gesture for him to go as I sipped my tea, wanting to dislodge whatever was stuck.

"Have you ever been outside Little Hangleton?" he asked. I saw him get up and sit down closer to the fire, on the floor. He faced me though. I was blushing even more furiously but my throat had managed to clear. I felt too formal on the couch so I seated myself down on the ground as well. My heart beat raced as I moved closer to Tom Riddle.

"No. They don't-"

"Let you," he finished my sentence, "What do they let you do. How do you pass your time?"

_I stare at you out of my window and daydream about you kissing me._

"I do the cooking and the cleaning in the house," I said, "I take care of my father and tend to the garden."

"That sounds so quaint," he said. I had no idea what quaint meant but I nodded my head anyway, "Personally I could never live that way." I stopped nodding.

"What do you do?" I asked softly.

"I read, I write, I study, you know, the usual things," he said. Read? Write? I knew none of that. I only knew spells, potions, and stories that my father had passed down to me. This time I shook my head. I had no idea.

"What?" he asked.

"I never learned to read. Or write. It doesn't really prove too useful in my life. And my father and brother won't let me. They say it'll put ideas into my head."

The look on Tom Riddle's face was one of disbelief, "That's the whole point of books. They're supposed to give you ideas so that you don't stay under one roof with just one outlook on life. Books can take you places. They can transport you to places you've never been and back within the hour. "

I looked at him, completely enthralled. Did reading really do that? Was it just like Apparition?

"Will you teach me?" I asked him without abandon. I wanted to learn what it was to read. I wanted to spend more time with him.

"Of course," he said. He looked me directly into the eyes as he said this, making my heart leap from my chest, "We can start right now." He stood up and grabbed a book off the shelves encircling us. It was thick and slightly dusty but it looked well-read and was on the verge of falling apart. A simple repairing spell would have fixed it right up.

"This is one of my favorite books," Tom Riddle said to me, "Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens. Have you heard of him?"

I shook my head, willing for him to crack open the book and read. As if reading my mind, he did. His voice was exquisite, articulating exactly how it needed to. It was deep and rumbling and gave me tingles in my toes. Suddenly his voice stopped. He lifted his eyes from the pages and looked into my eager ones.

"Have you ever been kissed?"

He looked at me softly, and we stared at each other. My heart, which had never quite gotten over the shock of what I was doing, thumped loudly in my ears. The book was completely forgotten as he came closer to me.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're beautiful?" he asked. I blushed and shook my head.

He came closer.

"You are beautiful. No matter what anyone says. You are beautiful to me."

Closer.

"Have you ever been touched?" he asked, putting a hand on my cheek which burned with happiness. I shook my head again. It was spinning. His sweet, sweet breath was hanging in the air between us. I couldn't think about anything but the shape of his lips. They were lingering so close to mine. I wanted to close the space between them, that infinitesimal space that separated us. I had wanted this for so long.

"Have you ever been kissed?" he asked again, softer, sweeter and slower than before. His lips were tantalizingly close and his whole body was just inches away from mine. I shook my head again, slowly, not wanting to miss anything. 18 years I had waited for someone to kiss me, now it was going to happen. The anticipation was building my gut ready to make me explode at any second.

Slowly, unerringly, Tom Riddle fit his lips into mine. He had his eyes closed and instinctively, I closed mine too. I saw stars, I heard violins, and I felt like the whole world was at my command. It was bliss. Nothing less, nothing more. But then, he moved away, too soon and I was left kissing the air.

"I'll walk you home," he said, standing up. I looked at him disappointed, but I stood up as well. Then I decided to take matters into my own hands for once. To finally claim what was rightfully mine. I lunged at Tom Riddle unexpectedly but he welcomed it. Our lips met again, furiously moving against each other and with each other. I wanted him. Dammit, I had been wanting him for 18 years.

I felt my knees turn to water and I melted right onto the floor, but Tom Riddle came right down with me, holding a hand behind me so that I wouldn't completely fall down. He tucked a strand of errant hair behind my ears and moved his lips away from mine. I felt disappointment erupt in the pit of my stomach but then I felt his lips caress my ear. Pins and needles emerged everywhere on my skin making me feel like I was on fire. But it was so pleasurable. I loved it.

"I thought you had never been kissed," Tom Riddle said, kissing me again before I could answer. His lips moved to my cheeks, my chin, my forehead, every inch of skin I had exposed. His hands were doing strange unfamiliar things to my face and hair. They moved lower and took off the cloak I was still wearing to reveal my shabby button-down gray dress.

I felt embarrassed by what I was wearing but Tom Riddle didn't seem to mind. All he cared about now, it seemed like, was kissing my newly-exposed neck and running his hands up and down my arms. He wrapped them around my waist suddenly, making my body suddenly flare up with heat. How many days had I spent waiting to be this girl? How many sleepless nights were spent thinking about this man? How many times a day did I chant his name in my head?

Tom Riddle undid the first button of my dress. It didn't expose much of my skin, just the top of my chest, but I still felt a little dirty, somewhat rebellious. Then the second button, the third, the fourth, the fifth, all of them. His hand disappeared beneath the fabric and I felt it suddenly on my cold chest. At first, it was just there over my heart, warming me. I felt uncomfortable and embarrassed but I said nothing.

His other hand began to encompass my back and let me down onto the floor gently. It disappeared as soon as I was flat and grabbed the bottom of my dress. Suddenly his mouth had found its way down my neck into my chest. It kissed me down by breastbone, leaving trails of heat. I was moaning now, a helpless heap on the floor.

My knees had become bare and his other hand kept going. I felt him caress between my legs, forcing them far apart. His fingers entered me in a strange way but it felt amazing. Then I noticed his clothes were gone as well. He was on his knees around me, above me, on me.

"I love you," I muttered, suddenly. The kissing stopped suddenly.

"What?" he asked, softly but harshly, "What did you say?"

"I love you," my voice was no louder than a whisper, still it seemed to echo around the room. I waited for another drugging kiss, another something to make me know he loved me too.

Nothing happened. I opened my eyes and Tom Riddle was staring at me in disbelief. No parts of our bodies were touching. He seemed distant, even scared.

"What?" I asked him, scared of the answer.

"You can't love me," he said.

"Why not?"

"You can't. You're poor. I'm rich. It just doesn't work. No way."

"What?" I asked, my voice breaking, in complete disbelief.

"Um… I just wanted sex. I would have paid you afterwards. Like I said, I'm rich, you're poor. I thought you were a prostitute or something, you know."

"What?" I said again, meekly. Prostitute? Sex? What did he mean? I loved him with my whole entire heart and he thought was just the town's slut? I wasn't trying to sleep with him. I was trying to tell him that I loved him, which I absolutely did.

As I was lost in my thoughts Tom Riddle got up and poured himself a glass of gin. That's when it hit me. Why hadn't I seen it before? Why hadn't I recognized it when I had seen it so many times? He was drunk. Drunk, drunk, drunk. And I was stupid. How would anyone in their right mind ever love me? How would anyone in their right mind ever kiss me or tell me that I was beautiful? I could hear a tiny tinkle as more gin hit the bottom of Tom Riddle's glass. It was either that, or it was sound of my heart breaking.

I would get him back for this. I would get everyone back. I would make them all see somehow, that I wasn't worthless. That I could do something with my life.

Thunder roared and shook the house pulling me out of my thoughts. I realized that my dress was still unbuttoned and that I was still falling out of it. I gathered up what was left of my fragile dignity and broken heart and ran out of there. Tears hadn't formed yet; they hadn't gotten a chance to. I had already figured what I was going to do. I knew that I hated this Tom Riddle with the same amount of passion that I loved him with and although I was conflicted and bleeding, I knew that I had to do something. Something that would scar him and something that would let me get what I wanted.

_A love potion._

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><p><em><em>**Thanks for reading! ****Please Review :)**


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